Disclaimer: The usual applies.
According to Hermione, chocolate had been proven by Muggle scientists to be very beneficial to human beings. Ron didn't give two tosses for the information, but if it finally got Hermione off of his back about his Chocolate Frog habit somewhat, well, bless those Muggles. He'd known they were a good lot.
Over the years his love of Chocolate Frogs hadn't diminished in the slightest. It had grown by leaps and bounds, pardon the pun. When he had been in school, the sugary kick provided by that favorite among favorites had been enough to jump-start the day. Even for someone of his notable height. And if that wasn't enough, his appreciation for the sweet had deepened all the more the day he'd realized that they were good for more than oral consumption. That particular afternoon, the rush he'd received had had only a passing connection with sucrose.
He'd been in withdrawal and hadn't been as careful with the packaging as he normally was. He'd ripped the cardboard away like a fiend and gone for his prize like a rabid kneazle. The Frog had leaped and he'd done a dive worthy of the best Seeker, following the airborne candy swiftly—right into Pansy Parkinson's blouse.
Awkward having your hand down a girl's shirt, it was. Especially when you had no previous romantic attachment and you'd actually been going for a frog made of chocolate. It was terribly hard to explain that no, you weren't copping a feel, but the one you'd gotten had been quite brilliant, thanks very much—now can I have my candy back? It lacked a certain finesse.
Not that he'd had that in spades before. Or even after.
Anyway, there he was, hand plunged as deeply as one could get between two very ample, erm, guards and a whole bloody lot of people staring him down. Pansy had blinked at the freckled arm before her eyes, looked down, looked back up, and then finally decided to look him in the eye. "Well?"
"I, um, got it?" Was that really any consolation? What the hell was he even saying?
Pansy clicked her tongue in her cheek and narrowed her eyes. "Bully for you, Weasley. Now get your hand out of my bosom." That tone dripped calm menace, an interesting and alarming combination.
He did so, but slowly. There was a reason the Muggles had that term "booby traps", and it didn't take a Granger to figure out where it came from. He backed away, hand firmly gripping his Frog and turning as red as Gryffindor's common room. "Sorry," he stammered.
She sniffed delicately when she looked down. "Oh, look, you've dripped on me." She caught the melted chocolate with a finger. Then she slowly licked it, moaning in a way that couldn't be called decent. "Yum," she said with a smack of her lips.
Ron swallowed. Merlin bless Chocolate Frogs.
Pansy's brow quirked. Men, or rather boys on the verge of being men, were pathetically easy to manipulate. Their brains were half mush; it didn't take much effort to completely blow their minds. Although…if she had to wager a guess, Pansy would lay odds that Weasley was wishing she'd blow an altogether different part of his anatomy. She wasn't surprised. Gryffindors had always struck her as more in sync with their animal instincts, particularly when compared to their Slytherin counterparts.
She allowed her eyes to travel leisurely down his body, uncaring who noticed. He was still staring at her breasts so hard she thought her blouse might catch fire. Knowing his record, it was not entirely impossible. Burned by a Weasley. How droll. Still, she thought as she inspected him, there was something to be said of baser dispositions. He had a tolerable physique. She wondered if he used it properly in bed. One never knew with some. Draco was decent enough, but he seemed to believe that being well-endowed was the end of his portion of the work. Shagging Draco had been like straddling a blast-ended skrewt. The encounter didn't last more than a few minutes before your partner exploded and left you with nothing to take away but sore bits. Definitely not to be repeated. Now, Weasley might be a different story. He just might be as wild in bed as he was in daily living. If channeled in the right direction, his animal side could prove very satisfactory. A good blindfold would add a bit of kink…and take care of his garish red hair.
Intrigued, Pansy turned back to her plate. She'd stumbled upon quite the surprising idea. Shag Weasley? Was it even legal to consider such a concept? He was so far beneath her station that it was almost criminal. Then again, it would be fun to slum. He certainly wouldn't have any annoying illusions like marrying her, like Draco, who actually had a social foundation to base his assumption on. If she decided to go forth with this titillating little plan, she could have some very good shags and an always-open option to toss him back where he came from. In a way, his rough birth excited her. It was probable he knew things that she did not. A smile grew. So many possibilities. She would give the matter some considerable thought.
Ron had been wondering if Parkinson had perfected the art of hypnotism via cleavage, but that was probably the natural state of man when confronted by the glories of—well, nature.
Thank Merlin she'd turned away and let him snap out of it. The situation had become uncomfortable. Yes, he was referring to his penis. It was more awake than he was, by hell. Pansy Parkinson's breasts were visual caffeine. It defied the law of man and wizard that he should imagine what her nipples looked like, but he'd developed into a right troublemaker since he'd met Harry Potter. Still, he hied himself back to his own table right quick, determined to outrun the strange thoughts rippling in his mind.
For a week he managed to do just that. Sort of. Never mind the fact that Parkinson seemed to, in his opinion, be watching him like a kneazle watched a mouse. Made a bloke feel sort of hunted. That feeling crystallized into full-blown certainty one fateful night when a storm cancelled Quidditch practice. In retrospect he'd been taking a lot more time than usual in the locker room. He was the last one to leave and who should he run into? None other than that Slytherin menace herself.
And what she had to say was simply unbelievable.
"I'm sorry, I think I've got rain in my ear--"
"Don't play coy, Weasley. I haven't got that sort of time." Her eyes heated and her smile turned feral. "Especially when I have much more interesting things planned. So how about it?"
"Parkinson, did you just imply that you and I should engage in sexual congress?"
She chuckled deep in her throat. "Sexual congress. So polite and unlike you. Or maybe not. You are a Gryffindor." She trailed a finger down his arm. "I'll say it clearly for the sake of your poor, overworked brain. I want to shag you. Fuck you. Take you to bed and show you the best way to spend a rainy afternoon. Would you like that? I'll ride you, you can get the best pussy you've ever had…" She purred and gripped his shirt. "It'll be fun."
He made a strangled sound. "I-I-" He focused on her lips, leaning in slightly, drawn like a magnet to pink flesh. "I—wow—that's--"
He was taking too long to answer in her opinion. She decided to take the matter into her own hands (figuratively this time) and leaned up to kiss him. He jerked back. "No!"
Pansy's mouth fell open. "What?"
Frankly, that surprised the hell out of him too. "Don't get me wrong, Parkinson. I'm, uh, flattered by your offer." Tempted as hell, actually. Merlin, he was slitting his own throat. Part of him wanted to grab onto opportunity and Parkinson's proffered breasts and to hell with the consequences, but damn the luck, his mum had told him there'd be days like this. Not in so many words, because that was just plain disgusting, but she'd gotten the point across metaphorically. Temptation, she'd said, would one day present itself. Ron looked once more at the rain soaked blouse that was doing a right lousy/perfect job of revealing Pansy's bounty. Here was Temptation and Present. Swallowing, he gripped her slackened hands and pulled them away from his uniform. "But I'm not…" Merlin help him. "I'm not that sort of boy."
Damnit. Damnit. Damnit.
Pansy shook her head in disbelief. "Did you just turn me down?" Her voice rose a decibel.
Ron nodded slowly and prepared himself for the attack. "'Fraid I did."
"Because you're not that kind of boy?" What in Merlin's great universe!
"Weasley. Explain. Now." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Were the rumors about him and Potter true then? "What side of the Quidditch field do you fly on, exactly?"
"Well, there's an attitude for you. Can't a bloke refuse a girl politely without having his sexuality questioned?"
"I have never been turned down. Never. Of course your sexual preferences are coming into question!"
"Maybe I just don't want you."
Pansy snorted. "I didn't know you were funny. How can you not want what I've got to give? Unless you're getting it from a more masculine source, and even then it's not entirely impossible."
"Merlin, that ego of yours must be a heavy burden." He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Look, my mum taught me what's what, and it doesn't include random or semi-anonymous shags. So thanks, but no thanks."
"I am not believing what I'm hearing. You're a male, for the love of Merlin! All men love random and semi-anonymous shags! Most of the time they'll go for broke and do completely anonymous. What in gods' name makes you different?"
"Integrity. Morals. A sense of personal hygiene. Take your pick." He shook his head. "I've got to go." He picked up his leftover gear and started down the hall.
Pansy was usually quick-witted, but this seemed to be just beyond her realm of comprehension. Ronald Weasley had just refused to shag her. There was something very, very wrong with this scenario. "Hold it right there!"
Don't ask him why, but Ron actually did it. He stopped right in his tracks. Deep breath. "Help you with something, Parkinson?"
Pansy stomped her way past him, turned, and poked a perfectly manicured finger into his chest. "Didn't your mother teach you it isn't polite to lead a witch on?" she demanded hotly.
"Lead a--? What are you on about?"
"Oh, don't make me laugh, Weasley! All week you've been eyeing me as much as I've been eyeing you. Hot, lingering looks. Shy little virgin blushes. Leaning into me when I decide to speak to you!"
Ron jerked upright and cursed his body's betrayal.
Pansy summed it up by sneering. "You want it as much as I, and if you expect me to believe that you're actually waiting or some equally insane rubbish than you've less brains than I gave you credit for!"
He suddenly brought his face close, red with anger, his voice gravelly and sharp as a Cruciatus. "So I want to fuck you. Big deal. I'm a bloke and it happens. It'll pass. I'm sure you're very familiar with the process, Parkinson."
The expression on his face left no doubt to his meaning. He thought she was a whore. Pansy turned her head to bite her cheek, furious comprehension dawning. The old double standard was rearing its ugly head. Men were men and women were sluts. Even the most basic of creatures, like the idiot in front of her, held to that infuriating philosophy. "So you'll turn down a good time for some nice, shiny standards, is that it?" He had it wrong, poor delusional sod. She was too good for him. "I thought I'd do you a favor, but it looks like my good will is wasted." She cast a last snarl of contempt up at him and turned on her heel.
"Too late to change your mind. You had your chance."
"I'm not going to take back what I said!" Unseen by her, his shoulders slumped. Outside the castle the storm continued to rage, providing a fitting background for the tumultuous emotions he dealt with. He'd never been good with feelings, damnit. His or anyone else's. All so easily bruised. "But maybe I might have said it a bit different. Not your fault your morals are skewed."
What the hell sort of apology was that? "My morals?" she repeated over her shoulder incredulously.
His blush heightened. "Look, what I mean is that you and I've got two different ideas about shagging. I want a girl who'll stick round, and you want a fuck buddy. It's similar, but not the same thing. You think I'm as dumb as a rock and I consider you the Devil Incarnate."
"Flattery won't get you back on my shag list, Weasley." Strange how there wasn't any heat to the words.
"Sex is natural, you know. Not a prude. Just know it can be more." He couldn't look more embarrassed than if she'd pulled his trousers down right there in the hall.
"My Merlin," she breathed. "You're a romantic, aren't you?"
He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "Well, don't go spreading that around. I'll never hear the end of it from Seamus. Not that you ever speak to Seamus." Oh, but this was a disaster. He had to go while the getting was good. "I've got to run. Not, you know, run. I plan on walking but--" Ah, bugger! He took off at a near sprint, trying to escape the scene as quickly as possible while still holding onto what dignity he had left.
Pansy only stared after his retreating figure. She stood there for a long time in the deserted corridor. Eventually she went back to the dungeon, but Weasley's words stayed with her all day. Something more? Like what? Love? How could sex be love? She loved sex, but somehow that didn't strike her as the same thing. How could sex be different with a "girl who'll stick round" than with her? Over and over Pansy turned the question, examining it from all angles. It plagued her throughout the night and into the following morning until she found herself once again at the Slytherin table. She stared at Draco holding court with unseeing eyes. Subdued by her continued preoccupation with a Gryffindor's point of view. She'd told herself it wasn't worth puzzling over, what, a hundred times? It was foolish and unproductive. So why couldn't she stop thinking about it?
A hand on her thigh interrupted her thoughts. "Leave off, Blaise."
"Don't be like that, Pansy. It's been awhile, and I know you're looking for some."
Pansy slowly turned her head. "Who told you that?"
"Everybody knows you haven't given it up lately. You must be hard up. But don't worry, baby, I'll take care of you." His fingers moved under her skirt.
Pansy's grip was steel on his wrist. "Let's get one thing straight," she hissed. "If I'm hard up for a shag, I'll let you know, not the other way around." She tossed his wrist away. "And don't say the word 'care'. It's vulgar." And too much like what that damned giant would utter.
At first Blaise didn't get the message. She wondered if she'd looked like that yesterday with the Redheaded Wonder. Charming, she thought derisively.
Blaise shook his head and scowled, obviously unwilling to accept rejection. "Don't be a bitch, Pansy."
She snorted. "It's what I do best. Now get out of my sight. You're disturbing my appetite."
He got the message then. And he didn't like it one bit. In fact, he hated it so much that he proceeded to spit out a word that was guaranteed to offend a saint. It was loud enough to draw attention, too. Just like yesterday, all eyes focused on the exchange. Pansy was damned sick of being stared at. She bared her teeth at Blaise and enunciated her retort clearly. "Incompetent."
Some people gasped, others tittered. Blaise looked ready to explode.
The bell that signaled the end of breakfast sounded, breaking up the scene before it could develop to new and uglier heights. Pansy refused to move until Blaise gave up the staring contest and stood himself. He stalked off furiously and Pansy was sure more rumors about her sexual proclivities would hit circulation by the end of the day. Tight lipped, Pansy gathered her satchel and few belongings and made her own way to class. She met the stares and whispers with a haughty chin and a challenge. Who cared what they thought. Who…cared….She wasn't a nice girl, or a good girl, and had never pretended to be any of that rubbish. Why were people so shocked? They should get some of their own excitement. Yes…that's what to call it…Excitement.
Pansy sat at her desk and carefully put her books on the surface. The truth was that she didn't feel very excited. Just tired. Tired of the stares and whispers and people thinking they knew her better than they did. Deep breath. Damnit, she'd forgotten to take out her quill—Pansy froze. She stared unblinkingly into her satchel. Was that what she thought it was? She threw a furtive glance around. No one was looking. Carefully she put her hand inside and closed it around the mysterious surprise in her bag.
She had no idea what it meant. She didn't begin to fathom the red-headed mind, and this could come out of no other brain. She didn't even know how he'd gotten it into her personal belongings undetected, though she secretly admired his sneakiness. She casually straightened, this time connected with Weasley's eyes when she looked around. He was looking at her curiously, glancing at her cupped hands. She could throw it back at him, she realized. This was the perfect opportunity to return the rejection he'd given her yesterday. She really ought to.
Yet when she looked down at the Chocolate Frog package in her hands, she didn't want to. She didn't have a clue as to why. It was a silly thing. She only just tolerated chocolate…Well, all right, she loved chocolate, but that didn't explain the frog. Frankly she didn't know how he'd parted with it. Everyone could see he was addicted. Every time Draco pushed Weasley's buttons, the Gryffindor tore open a package and—
Pansy reared back, shocked. Was that redheaded giant trying to make her feel better? She pointed at the frog and then to herself in question. He nodded. She blinked. Unexpected. Most unexpected. What to do?
The bell rang again; Weasley kept looking. She had to make a decision now. Pansy's hands clenched. "Might have said it different," he'd told her. "Something more."
Pansy bit her lip. He was poisoning her mind with his nonsense. That's why she'd turned Blaise down. The Gryffindor fool had made her look at herself and see something she didn't like. Not sex, but that lack of conviction, a conviction that he had in spades. He had that foolish hope; she didn't have anything that looked remotely like hope.
Except that Chocolate Frog. Stupid to think that. Stupid to believe that. She wasn't falling for it, she told herself as she slipped her candy into her pocket. She'd eat it later when hormones got the best of her. Not before and certainly not after. She didn't want him to think his gift was something special. She also refused to acknowledge the tingles that warm smile he sent her way generated. For now, anyway.
Just you wait, Weasley, she promised silently. I'll have you yet.
Just you wait.
A/N- This was written for Slytherinswench's birthday. I wanted to get it done in time, which I did, but she has "urged" me to do a sequel, which I shall. Don't you worry!